


Winter Wonderland

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: ColdAtomWave, ColdWave Winter Wonderland 2016, Drabbles - 500wc, Gratuitous Amounts of Jewish, Jewish Len, Jewish Mick, Jewish Ray, M/M, Multi, coldwave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8990362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: starting with: ❄ anything to do with heat/fire





	1. roasting on an open fire

**Author's Note:**

> here's my semi-belated contribution to coldwave winter week 2016!! decided to take the stress off by writing just 500wc drabbles for each prompt rather than bigger fics, and it worked out splendidly. 
> 
> not beta'd, all mistakes are mine. hope you guys like it!!

A laugh bubbles in Len’s throat and bursts from his lips unbidden. “What the hell?” He asks in a slow and curious drawl. He slinks further into the room, basked in the glow of the rumbling fireplace. His eyes stay trained on his partner in crime-slash-husband, though the longer he looks the more he laughs. Len stops beside the couch and looks down. “Is that a bearskin rug?”

“Bet your sweet ass it is,” Mick rumbles, delighted. He runs his fingers through fur of the rug as though to entice.

Len only laughs, hiccupping and stunted. “And wine?”

“Your favorite.” Mick nods to two bottles—one uncorked with two long-stemmed bottles beside it, each just under half full.

Len’s chest warms and not just from the glimmering flame taking up their rarely used fire place. He shrugs out of his parka, then bends to undo his boots. Leaving both items by the couch he steps closer to Mick. “All for me?”

“All for us,” Mick corrects. He extends a hand and once Len links their fingers, Mick tugs him down.

They fall onto the rug in a tangle of limbs and mirth. They roll for a few moments until they settle side by side, facing one another.

“I think we’re both woefully overdressed,” Len remarks as his fingertips move greedily to the battered hem of Mick’s tank top.

Mick hums and nods, but doesn’t act on it. Instead he leans forward and kisses Len softly on the mouth. It’s slow and sweet and warm, carried by an undercurrent of age-old affection. Mick lifts his freehand to cup Len’s cheek, thumbing along the strong line of his jaw. “Love you, Lenny.”

Len exhales shakily against Mick’s lips; his heart thuds around in his chest hard enough to hurt, in a good way. “Love you too, Mick.” He kisses Mick again, and again, and again, each one hungrier than the last. “You’re ridiculous,” he taunts.

“Learned from the best,” is Mick’s sharp reply. Mick’s grip shifts until he can take Len by the hips and tug his husband into his lap. “Got some steaks to cook up later, too.”

“What, couldn’t have those ready and waiting?” Len scrapes his nails along Mick’s bald scalp and revels in the responding groan.

“Figured we’d have some more pressing matters to take care of first.” Mick cups one hand to Len’s ass and squeezes. “Didn’t think you’d obect.”

Len grins and brushes their noses together. “You know me well,” he agrees. He drops his hands to the bottom of his shirt and pulls up in one swift motion, arching his back as he goes. He shivers when Mick’s hot breath ghosts over his chest, just as he’d hoped. “Fuck,” Len breathes.

“That’s the plan, Lenny.”

Len rolls his eyes and chides, “get on with it, then.” He startles when Mick’s thick, hot fingers slip beneath the waist band of his jeans, skin on skin as Mick gropes at Len’s ass.

Mick grins, filthy, mischievous. “Gladly.”


	2. outside the snow is falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❄ anything to do with cold/snow/ice

It’s an odd turn of events, the plane of plexi-glass separating them, the clunky black phones held to ears and hushed words spoken. It hurts Len’s heart, deep, sharp. His fingertips burn with the urge to reach out and touch the glass, knowing Mick would reach out too.

When he catches Mick’s gaze, he knows his boyfriend is thinking the same thing.

He steels his expression and chokes down the sadness itching at him.

“I’ll be fine, Mick. It’s six months, it’s nothing.” He shrugs and sits back—distancing himself from Mick, from the conversation, from freedom. Len purses his lips unhappily, his mood worsening when Mick only looks at him sadly. “Mick,” Len says as a warning.

“Not gonna be the same without you, Lenny. Haven’t had a Hanukah apart since…” Mick trails off.

Len sighs. “I know,” he says, because he does. The eight days of celebration are still a few weeks off, but this is the only time Mick and Len will see each other before the holidays. Len looks away but clutches the phone tighter. “I know, Mick.”

Mick looks away, too. He looks down at his lap. “Lisa’s missing you,” he says.

Len clenches his teeth. “I _know_ , Mick.”

That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, evidently, because Mick is suddenly seething.

“Well fuck me for letting you know that your fuckin’ sister is _missing_ you!” He shouts. No guards come by, easily paid off to give the two of them a rare moment of privacy. “Fuck me for thinkin’ you cared that this year is going to be fuckin’ _shit_ without you!” Mick huffs, a mirthless laugh. He rubs at his eyes and then just as suddenly, the tension seeps from his body.

“Mick,” Len starts, but a thick and calloused hand held up silences him.

“Whatever, Len, see you in six.” He doesn’t even meet Len’s eyes again; he just hangs up the phone, leaves without another word.

What feels like an eternity later, Len is taken back to his cell. He doesn’t resist or make any snarky comments at the guards like he usually does. He feels hollow, empty, and the sensation walks the line between too familiar and too foreign.

He sits on his stiff mattress and doesn’t move even after the door to his cell is shut and locked. He stares at the icy cement floor until finally, some sort of feeling bleeds back into his body. It’s mild, meaningless, but it’s something. Eventually he looks up, and that’s when he sees it—

A little snowglobe on the shelf above the toilet. Definitely wasn’t there when he left to meet Mick. He stands on shaking legs and hurries over to the trinket. It’s small, fits in the palm of his hand and he can almost close his long fingers around it. He shakes it once, watches the artificial snow rain on Central City.

He looks out the miniscule window of his cell. “See you in six,” he says quietly.


	3. naughty or nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❄ good guys, bad guys, or any combination thereof

Barry Allen has seen a lot of crazy things in his life—starting, of course, with his mother being murdered by a time-traveling speedster from the future, ranging all the way to that same speedster impersonating his idol—and yet… somehow, this takes the cake. He blinks owlishly at the sight before him; his mouth goes dry the longer he gapes, and he can’t force himself to look away.

It’s yarmulkes that make it, he thinks. Partially because it gives him some insight to his enemies that he never expected to learn, partially because it’s sickeningly sweet.

They’re still in their usual garb: thick parka, thicker fireman’s coat, guns strapped to their thighs in custom holsters. But, on the tops of their heads are traditional yarmulkes. On the table beside them, a gentle flicker menorah rests. They’re surrounded by eager kids with concerned, hovering parents. Nothing evil seems to be happening, though, nothing that Barry can tell.

He approaches cautiously. He stays behind clusters of other people so that Captain Cold and Heatwave don’t see him; he gets as close as possible until he realizes that there’s an enormous collection of wrapped gifts sitting behind the villains. An instinct tugs in his chest, something that screams _stolen_ , because how else would they come by so many presents?

It’s that moment when Captain Cold looks up and sees Barry in an instant. Cold grins, cheeky but not devious, and motions Barry closer.

All attention falls on Barry—dressed in civvies, not as the Flash, otherwise he’d be drawing even more attention—as he stumbles forward. “Cold,” he greets once he’s beside the two men.

“Barry Allen,” Cold drawls happily. “What brings you by this evening?”

“Uh,” he looks down at the three grocery bags hanging from his grip. “Groceries,” he says with a shrug.

Cold looks amused. “Something you’re wanting to say, Barry?” He speaks quietly, stepping back enough to allow Heatwave to take over handing out the gifts.

Barry steps closer and doesn’t bother stalling. “Where’d you get those?” He jerks his head toward the mountainous stack.

Cold’s grin widens. “Knew you’d ask that, Scarlet.” He even chuckles under his breath. “You really think we’d steal a bunch of toys n’pass them off to Jewish kids in need?” He crosses his arms, unimpressed, and Barry’s body burns with sheepish embarrassment.

“I… Not… I mean…” Barry gapes, again.

Cold just shakes his head. “We bought these, Red, don’t get your boxers in a twist.” There’s a glint in his eyes. “The money we bought them with, well… that’s another story. But these are bought and paid for like honest men.”

Barry narrows his eyes, but can’t help but grin. “Didn’t know you were Jewish.”

Cold seems surprised by the comment but takes it in stride. “We both are, it’s part of how we bonded back in juvie.” The soft look in Cold’s eyes is disarming, but it dissipates as quick as it came.

 “Hate to cut this short, but, duty calls.”


	4. happy holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❄ celebrating the season

Len sits, legs curled up against his chest, head pillowed in his arms on top of his knees. He’s as small as he can be, tucked against the wall with the lumpy mattress under his ass. He’s cold, bitter, thinking of Lisa—so small and vulnerable outside these walls. He wonders if Lewis has even gotten the menorah out this year, or if Lisa is going without. She’s so young, she wouldn’t really know the difference at this point, but Len knows. He knows and he hates it. Hates that Lewis can’t be assed to be a real dad even for eight measly days a year.

“Hey,” a gruff voice startles Len out of his thoughts.

He looks up to see a surprisingly familiar face at the door of his cell. Mick Rory, a few years older and a few inches taller than Len himself. The regulation shirt is almost too small on him and in a quiet corner of his adolescent mind, Len burns with desire.

“What?” Len asks after letting the silence stretch as long as he can bear.

Rory takes that as an invitation to come inside, and Len forces himself not to let his discomfort show. Rory doesn’t sit on the bed with Len, though, sits on the floor and against the wall across from him.

“What do you want?” Len asks again.

Rory holds up a single finger, then digs around in the pocket of his pants. He looks around cautiously before pulling his hand out again, palm up.

Len’s heart stutters, hurts, and his stomach flips. “Is that a dreidel?” He asks quietly. Slowly he moves from his spot, slinking to the ground. The floor is icy under him but he can’t take his eyes off the toy.

“Made it myself,” Rory tells him. “Not my first Hanukkah behind bars, make one every time I can. Makes it less shitty.” He shrugs. “You wanna play?”

Len swallows. “How did you know?” He finally tears his gaze away from Rory’s hand to look him in the eyes.

Another shrug. “Didn’t, not really. Figured you at least wouldn’t try n’pick a fight for me asking.” Rory actually looks unsure of himself, which Len finds himself loving. Another bout of silence stretches before Rory continues. “You’ve got one hell of a mouth on you,” he says.

Len raises an eyebrow, amusement growing when Rory only looks upset with himself.

“I mean, you’re gonna get your ass beat if you keep actin’ the way you do.”

“What, you wanna protect me?” Len scoffs. “I can handle it.”

“Don’t gotta do it alone.” Rory sets the dreidel aside and sits up a little straighter. “Figured you could, shit, use a friend or something. You being’ Jewish is a bonus.” Rory looks embarrassed. “Wanted to get to know you,” he admits.

Len blames the holiday for the way the words strike him so deeply. “Okay,” he says. He gestures to the dreidel. “What’re we playing for?” He asks.

Rory grins.


	5. we all will be together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❄ polyamory in any form

The glow of the menorah is soft, not especially bright, but it warms Ray from his head to his toes. He basks in it, the familiar sense of satisfaction and inner peace that comes with lighting the last candle on the last day. He nearly sways, heart full of joy and stomach full of food. He looks from side to side and is pleased to see each of his boyfriend’s similar happy.

“This is nice,” Ray says after a while. He reaches out and takes Len’s hand, then Mick’s, swinging their hands back and forth playfully.

Len hums in agreement and Mick grunts.

Ray rolls his eyes affectionately. “C’mon, guys,” he goads gently. He looks to Len first.

Len side-eyes him with the faintest grin curling at the corners of his lips. “Good idea, Boyscout.”

“Yeah,” Mick interjects. “Not bad, Haircut.”

Ray preens at the praise and grips their hands tighter.  “We should do this every year.” The thought nearly has his heart bursting from his chest with giddiness. “Maybe Lisa can come next year!”

Len’s smile broadens. “That’d be nice,” he admits. His thumb brushes gently over Ray’s knuckles. “Real nice.” Ray watches a soft, foggy look overtake Len’s features, and it only adds to Ray’s own delight. He leaves Len to his memories for the moment, and turns to Mick.

“What about you, any requests?” Ray asks quietly. He bumps his shoulder against Mick’s.

He seems to seriously consider the question, head tilting from side to side as though weighing options. “Bigger menorah,” he rumbles.

“What you’re saying is you want more fire,” Len drawls.

Ray giggles.

Mick shrugs. “Got me there.” He grins though, and shoots a wink to each of his partners. “Can’t you picture it? Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Len shakes his head, and Ray only laughs harder.

After gentle, easy silence has fallen over them again, Mick is the one to break it. “I say we take this to bed while the night is still young.”

Ray’s body flushes, a different kind of warmth taking over. He looks to Len who’s grinning like a cat that got the cream. Ray allows himself to be herded toward the bed, Mick tugging him from the front and Len crowding against his back. They leave the menorah flickering—which maybe isn’t the smartest idea when they also start tossing clothes off haphazardly, but Ray doesn’t pay it much mind.

They fall into bed tangled in each other and kiss until the only thing illuminating the room are the eight candles a few feet away. Sundown dissipated quickly, and the glow is brighter now that all natural light has faded into the evening, and Ray admires the shadows it casts on his lover’s bodies.

He’s sandwiched between the two of them, hands moving eagerly but not desperately. There’s greed but no rush in the touches, because for once they have all the time in the world. They keep moving together even after the candles burn out, long into the night.


	6. since we’ve no place to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❄ trapped (in a snowstorm or otherwise)

Len grits his teeth.

Mick only grins.

_I really can’t stay…_

“Mick,” Len growls.

_Baby, it’s cold outside._

“Len,” Mick counters with a laugh lacing his tone.

_I’ve got to go away…_

“I’m serious,” Len snaps, practically leaping from where he sits on the couch to make a beeline for the little stereo in the corner. “Why do you even _have_ a CD of _Christmas_ songs?” He scoffs. He reaches for the pause button, but a firm hand around his wrist stops him.

“C’mon, Lenny, ain’t that bad.”

Len rolls his eyes but allows himself to be tugged away from the stereo. “My ears are bleeding,” he deadpans.

Mick snickers and guides Len around in a messy, uneven dance. Len follows his lead even though they nearly crash into coffee table or couch several times. The music fades in and out of Len’s awareness as he puts all attention on his husband.

“Really comin’ down out there,” Mick comments suddenly.

Len follows his gaze to the window, outside which snow is indeed coming down in heaps. It’s thick, heavy snow, sticking relentlessly, piling up with no end in sight. He shrugs. “We’ve got nowhere to be,” he says.

Mick’s grip on Len’s hips is gentle, but tightens momentarily. “Think Lisa is alright?”

Len ducks his head and hides his smile—not that Mick would see it anyway, the way he’s entranced by the snow outside. “I’m sure she’s fine. She can text us if she needs anything. Not like the power’s out.” He jerks his head to the stereo again, raising an eyebrow at Mick.

Mick finally looks at him again. He studies Len’s face, and Len puts up with the scrutiny even as he itches to pull away. The moment stretches, long enough that one song fades into another and Dean Martin’s deep crooning fills the room.

“What?” Len asks. “Got something on my face?”

Mick shakes his head. “Nah, just like lookin’ at you.”

Len’s face flushes and he struggles with putting on a frown, when his lips want to curl into a smile.

“I know we aren’t real sentimental, Len,” Mick starts.

“Mick, we’re married,” Len interrupts.

“Lenny, just.” Mick stops their idle dancing and they stand in the middle of their living room. “Tryin’ to be romantic, alright?”

Len’s blush returns, bright in the apples of his cheeks. It’s not that they aren’t romantic with one another, per se, just usually in more grand ways. Things like robbing banks in foreign countries, stealing enormous jewels, fanciful paintings. They aren’t the quietly romantic type, not like this.

All the same, Len falls silent and nods for Mick to continue.

“Just wantin’ to let you know how much you mean to me, Lenny. We don’t say it a lot and that’s just fine with me, but sometimes I wanna say it.”

The earnest, almost uncertain look on Mick’s face takes Len’s breath away. “I love you,” he says suddenly.

Mick looks surprised, but pleased. “Love you too, Lenny.”


	7. mistletoe hung where you can see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❄ obligatory mistletoe prompt

Len looks up with a grin. He flexes his grip on the glass of eggnog in his hand, then brings it to his lips to take a long, indulgent sip. He licks his lips of the stray drink, reveling in the way Mick watches his tongue. Len relaxes against the threshold of the doorway they’re standing in, feeling safe and protected, drunk and loose but entirely in control. He’s tipsy, that’s for certain, because this eggnog has more alcohol in it than probably necessary.

It’s good, though. Nice to unwind. Around them, their band of misfit toys mill about. The Mardon brothers are dressed in matching ugly sweaters, fighting over some present or other. Shawna is sitting comfortably in the plush armchair on the other side of the room, sipping her own hot cocoa and watching everyone else. Even Hartley is hanging around, though he looks more out of place than before ever since his change of heart.

“Lenny,” Mick’s breath hits his face hot and boozy. Len wrinkles his nose but drags his attention back to his husband. “Look what we’re standin’ under.” Mick looks up and grins at the blatant, obnoxious bunch of mistletoe hanging above them.

Len had known it was there, had planted himself in this doorway specifically for this moment. He grins and sips at his eggnog again. He smacks his lips together and savors the taste—and Mick’s hungry stare. “Well,” Len drawls. “What’re you waiting for, Mick? An engraved invitation?” He goes so far as to tilt his head up.

Mick snorts quietly but doesn’t waste another moment. He leans in, hand braced against the threshold above Len’s head. The kiss is deceptively, almost startling soft. Len sighs into it and swallows Mick’s own grunt. He looks an arm across Mick’s shoulders, clutching his nearly empty glass of eggnog to his chest. He lets Mick press him harder against the frame of the doorway, even hitching a leg up around Mick’s waist.

“Really, guys?” Clyde’s voice cuts through. “C’mon,” he whines.

Len and Mick grin against each other’s lips. “Sorry, kids,” Len taunts. It rouses a chorus of groans from their Rogues, and a laugh from Mick. Voice hushed, Len continues speaking directly to Mick. “We should take this upstairs.”

Nodding, Mick plucks the glass from Len’s hands. He sets it aside on a nearby table; he barely pulls out of Len’s grasp to do so. Returning to Len’s personal space, he cups his hands under Len’s ass and hauls him up until they’re sufficiently wrapped up in each other. They kiss again as Mick walks the familiar path down the hall and to their room.

Once inside, they fall into bed. They don’t immediately begin to undress, instead settling for curling up together.

Len speaks first. “This is nice.”

Mick stops kissing at Len’s neck to reply. “Yeah, Lenny, really is.”

Len’s eyes feel heavy but he’s far from tired. He grins, then draws Mick in for a filthy and sweet kiss.


End file.
